


A Ship and a Lighthouse

by BalefireFlatlands



Series: The Balefire [9]
Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2019-09-16 20:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalefireFlatlands/pseuds/BalefireFlatlands
Summary: Two warlords meet to discuss some trade options.





	1. Trade Negotiations

The place Gutgash chose for the meeting was a shithole. Literally. Several of Scrotus’ war parties had used this metal shed as a latrine at some point when they occupied this war post conveniently located between Gutgash and Jeet’s territories. Jeet crinkled his nose as he paced, unable to sit still for even a minute.

“The offer still stands as I put it forth.” Gutgash was sitting in a battered metal folding chair, bad leg extended, both hands on his crutch.

Jeet waved a hand irritably. “I’m not interested in joining forces. Got all I need where I’m at. We meet. We trade. We both go home happy. And that’s how it’s gonna stay.”

Outside Jeet’s entourage was exchanging easy insults with the group from Gutgash’s keep, shifting crates from one convoy to the other, trading food and bullets for water and cloth.

“I heard you’re running out of water Jeet.”

Jeet’s sharp glare turned to the old man, brow furrowing enough to cause the blades there to cut into his skin. “You heard that huh?” His hand clenched at his side, mentally going through every member of his stronghold and wondering who the easy talker was.

“Now calm down. I have an offer for you. Got a tanker we could fill on up. More water than your people could use in a hundred days.” Water was something Gutgash had in abundance, hundreds of dew collectors everywhere and probably the most water outside the Citadel or Gastown.

Jeet straightened, glaring down his angular nose at Gutgash. “What are you doing with that much water?”

“What I’m willing to do with it, is trade it to you.”

Jeet just grunted. “For what?”

“I’m looking to buy that Bullet Boy off of you.”

“Blas Cap?” Jeet was actually taken by surprise, word spread faster than he thought and he didn’t consider having a prisoner gossip worthy. Not that he really treated him much like a prisoner anymore.

“It has a name?” Gutgash gave a strange half-smile that immediately set Jeet on edge.

“Everyone’s got a name.” Jeet started pacing again, mind churning. “You know what the Thrall Rustlers were asking for him? You better have something more than water.”

“And I know they didn’t get their price which is why he was there for a year. It’s a fair offer, I can feed another mouth for a while.”

“Better be able to feed two, it comes as a set.” Jeet ignored the questioning look Gutgash sent him, not wanting to talk about Scab. “I’m trading you plenty of ammo already, nothing he can do that we aren’t already trading for. Besides, you had your chance, could have traded that girl and the concubine for him instead of bartering with Scrotus.”

Jeet hit a nerve there, causing the ever-calm Gutgash to look up with a scowl. Trading with Scrotus had been a calculated move on his part, though he wasn’t proud of it, but getting someone who made gunpowder would have been the better option. “The water and my crusher tractor, and I’ll let you keep the rig pulling the tanker. Plus full engines in all of them.”

Jeet paused for a moment before continuing his pacing. That was a tempting offer. Of course without Blas they’d run out of ammo eventually and have to trade with Gutgash for more. He didn’t want to give up his main offensive advantage that was a practically never ending supply of ammo. Blas had tried to teach some of the lighthouse residents how to cook powder and make bullet casings, but he was still faster than all of them even with only one arm. And he was constantly making new things, new explosives, new types of ammo, he was bordering on brilliant when it came to ballistics, had plans and ideas for hundreds of new things to try.

He was also easy going, almost cheerful, a nice addition to the lighthouse in the middle of nowhere. Amongst other pleasant things he was capable of. Which weren’t tangible resources, but still counted. To Jeet anyway.

“No deal. Think I’ll keep him.” Because he was a valuable resource to the stronghold and not for any other reason.

“You sure? Might be a mistake to not take the offer.” Gutgash spun his crutch in his hands looking at it instead of Jeet.

Jeet’s eyes got even narrower, pulling himself up to his full height so he could tower over Gutgash’s chair. “Are you threatening me old man?”

“Call it a warning.” He stood, leveling a steady look at Jeet, never wavering. “I know you Jeet. You’re twitchy and impulsive, you do things you regret. And it’ll effect more than just you, you’ve got a stronghold to think about. Can’t be hanging on any … personal feelings. Hate to see something go wrong because you let trades go sour. Sure you don’t want to think it over?”

Jeet took a deep breath nostrils flaring as he fought down the urge to kick the chair out from under Gutgash, beat him to death with it. “I ain’t trading him.”

Gutgash just smiled knowingly, nodding. “Made your decision then.” Stumping towards the exit he pushed open the door and called to his gang to load up and move out, smirking to himself as he heard the telltale sound of the interior of the shack being pincushioned full of arrows. Gutgash’s convoy was pulling away before Jeet emerged, stalking to his own convoy and heading in the opposite direction.

Gutgash nodded at him through the window of his rig. “I’ll be seeing you Jeet.” A bittersweet smile graced his lips as he turned around to look through the windshield and towards his own stronghold. “I’ll be seeing you.”


	2. Just as it was found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gutgash makes good on his threat.

The attack came as a complete and utter surprise. The lighthouse was situated on a prominent outcropping and commanded an impressive view of the surroundings. Any cars approaching would be spotted immediately.

In the daylight.

In the middle of the night, in the complete and utter darkness of the desert, cars were invisible and people were merely shadows against an even deeper blackness. Then quite abruptly the Lighthouse erupted into chaos. Screams heralded the first of Jeet’s people to die and suddenly there were strangers swarming everywhere. Jeet’s defense lay in the long road leading to the door that could eliminate any cars approaching, and the lighthouse was secured against any on foot attacks. But it wasn’t protected against betrayal from within. After living with the harsh reality of life without purpose, a single person in Jeet’s stronghold tipped the tide against him, turning to Gutgash’s prophetic promise of the return of the ocean. He shot the man guarding the door and kicked the mechanism that opened it, crashing the door to the ground.

Lights started coming on, and Jeet was screaming orders. In the turmoil it was hard to tell friend from foe when everyone was just wearing scavenged gear and fighting with whatever weapons they could find. More than one person was killed by someone on their own side. Jeet pincushioned an enemy to the wall, Blas Cap threw something that exploded and sent shrapnel everywhere. No one knew what was happening except the cacophony of the battle.

Jeet was a clever strategist and a resourceful leader, but he didn’t have many people to lead. He didn’t make fancy promises, nor lie to them; life was rough, survival was hard, everyone was most likely going to die and he didn’t tolerate freeloaders. Gutgash had something Jeet didn’t, and that was a lie that inspired hope. And for people far past the brink of desperation, clinging to that hope could be far more alluring than the cold hard reality that was life in the apocalypse.

Gutgash knew the rains weren’t returning. Even if they did the amount of water needed to lift the battleship he maintained would destroy everything including the ship before they found out if it was sea worthy. He knew it was a lie. Jeet knew it. Pink Eye knew it. Deep down most of his followers knew it. But it was something to believe in, something to strive for. In a way he was no different than the Immortan, leading a band of fanatics with a myth no one could prove wasn’t true. But they came to him of their own free will and they were willing to do anything to provide for their stronghold.

Casualties were mounting faster than Jeet could reload his crossbow and Gutgash’s people were tearing apart anything they could get their hands on. They were on the second floor now, minor explosions indicating that Blas was throwing all kinds of things at them. They didn’t stop coming, and there were vastly more of them than of Jeet’s forces.

Above it all there was a feral yelling and snarling and then a bloodcurdling scream, Scab had managed to get one of them down onto the ground and was literally ripping them limb from limb. Completely soaked with blood he tried to trip another one and get them down to his level. A crossbow bolt in the man’s chest downed him and Scab easily finished him off. Reveling in the battle he lunged at the nearest enemy’s shins ready to kill another one, battle fever taking him and yelling all kinds of crazed rantings about Valhalla at them.

None of Gutgash’s battle party had expected there to be a War Boy and just his presence was unsettling. Sure he was on the ground and didn’t seem to be able to stand up, but he’d already gotten quite a body count just by dragging people down and tearing into their throats with his teeth and fingers. It took nearly five of them to get ahold of him and tip him over the railing, letting him fall two stories onto the concrete below, cutting off his war cries as abruptly as they had started. It took a further dozen to subdue Jeet who was not going down without a fight, backed into a corner and slicing them to ribbons with a knife.

But there were just too many of them to deal with and it was a complete slaughter.

Blas Cap had been manhandled down to the main floor and tied up despite his thrashing. Jeet was seething, and dripping blood from a head injury as he was forcibly dragged to the railing as Gutgash finally entered the fray. Limping into the now busted open lighthouse door and standing amidst the corpses. Jeet ground his teeth, eyes flicking briefly to Scab who lay unmoving on his side, blood splattered out in every direction from the impact with the ground.

Irrationally he was momentarily glad Scab had gone out fighting in a battle, he would have liked that. But then he was brought back to worrying about his own fate as Gutgash approached. Blas Cap yelled something that was unintelligible through the gag stuffed in his mouth as he was dragged from the lighthouse and tossed into the back of a waiting car.

“Well. You had a good long run, I’ll give you that.”

Jeet spit in his face, saliva tinged with blood, barely recoiling as one of the men holding him backhanded him. “Never thought even you would stoop so low.”

Gutgash took Jeet’s crossbow from one of his followers, leaning on his good leg so he could hold it, absently testing the tip of the arrow with his thumb. “I’m not much for sentiment, but I do mourn what could have been. We could have been partners.” He smirked and looked around. “Every ship at sea needs a lighthouse to anchor them.”

“You were better off selling out to Scrotus.” Jeet glowered, defiant to the end. “I’m lots of things Gutgash, but I ain’t a liar, and you’re the biggest one I ever did meet.” He spit to the side, blood pooling in his stomach from the beating he’d taken. “I’ll be seeing you in hell you piece of shit.”

Gutgash nodded grimly. “That you will Jeet. That you will.” He leveled the crossbow at Jeet’s chest, looking him right in the eyes as he pulled the trigger.

Jeet went down, gasping through a punctured lung as he was dropped onto the metal catwalk. Gutgash tossed the crossbow onto him as he turned to go, motioning to his warband to leave the lighthouse leader there.

“Goodbye Jeet.”

Jeet gasped out something that would have rivaled Scab for bitter menace, but none of it was audible. Laying on the metal grating he watched Gutgash leave, nothing but corpses in his wake. No one was left alive. The storage rooms had been broken into and ransacked, cars stolen, even mattresses were strapped to cars and taken away. Almost nothing was left behind except the dead bodies.

Jeet groaned and rolled over, feeling suddenly cold. Reaching a hand up he snapped the end of the arrow off, pulling it out of his chest. Struggling for air he balled a fist against the injury, blood spurting out with his pulse. He managed to get to his feet, staggering heavily and reaching out for something to balance himself. His hand closed around a familiar piece of fabric; his chair, his throne.

He collapsed into it, leaning back and trying to gather his strength to do something other than sit there and bleed to death. His breathing slowed, eyes rolling back as everything went dark and he went totally limp.

Jeet was still in his chair. Still the lord of his domain. His people surrounded him in the stronghold.

Gutgash had left it just as he had found it.


	3. A Legend Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stolen resources won't be taken lightly.

Gutgash and his crew were disappearing over the horizon when there was a loud groan from inside the Lighthouse followed by an even louder curse. From the bottom floor of the stronghold there was the briefest flutter of movement as a very broken War Boy opened his eyes and looked around.

There were corpses everywhere, and as he pulled his head up he winced, a grotesque suctioning sound as his cheek tried to stay glued to the floor via dried blood. Blinking he rubbed at the sticky blood on his face, trying to process what had happened. He should be dead, tilting his head back to look up at the railing he had been thrown from, he couldn’t believe he had survived that, especially with all the blood around. Was it all his blood? What a waste of something legendary.

His arms still worked, he put palms flat on the ground to push himself up, glancing at the corpses around him; enemies. Except one. He reached out to close the eyes of the woman he had shared blood with, “Witnessed.”

Twisting himself he tried to lay on his hip like he normally did before starting to crawl along the ground, only to be violently thrown off balance onto his back. With a muttered curse he rolled onto his shoulder and looked down at himself. He was usually splayed in all different directions but it definitely looked worse than normal. Dragging himself along by his fingers he pulled himself up to the staircase, using it to turn around and prop himself up for a better look.

One side of his hip was completely deformed, he must have landed on it, and the corresponding leg was bent in an unnatural way that shouldn’t have been possible. Holding himself up against the railing with one hand he reached down and shoved at his waist. His whole lower half jostled to one side and his leg felt gelatinous. The blood was coming from his thigh and pelvis, where tiny bone shards were sticking out of his skin, and a few bigger ones had torn holes in his pants. That probably wasn’t good, but he couldn’t feel it so he didn’t much care. Jeet was probably going to be pissed at him for bleeding everywhere though.

Speaking of Jeet, he didn’t see the Warlord among the scattered dead. Or the Bullet Boy. Scab turned his head to the stairway, fingers tightly gripping the tread as he maneuvered himself up onto the first step. Then his upper half was wedged onto the next step holding on tightly with one arm while his other reached down to forcibly drag his limp legs up to join his body on the step. It took a fucking long time, and he was sweating and cursing and exhausted by the time he got to the upper landing. Dragging himself forward he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, panting hard. Swiveling his eyes to the side he eyed the droplets of blood that showed everywhere he had gone, leaving a trail like a snake slithering through the sand.

There was another sound he could hear other than his own heavy breathing, something raspy and gurgling. Flipping over onto his stomach again he was immediately aware of what was making that sound. Jeet. Collapsed in his chair, halfway slid out of it with blood staining his chest and the already damaged side of his face.

Scab scuttled over there, dragging himself by his forearms and elbows, too tired to prop himself up anymore. But he paused at the entrance to the alcove where he and Blas slept. It had been ransacked, mattresses gone, Blas’ drawings and blueprints ripped up and scattered around, and more importantly, no sign at all of the Bullet Boy. Could he have ran away? Blas was soft as all hell, but he’d seen him chucking bombs around with little care for his own safety, Scab didn’t think he’d leave. At least not of his own free will. He continued towards Jeet, wrapping his fingers around the man’s ankle and giving him a slight shake.

“Imperator!” There was no response and Scab dragged himself upwards into the chair, trying to not dislodge Jeet from where he was flopped over. “Imperator the battle is over. Look! Look at the glory.” With a wide grin Scab looked around at the aftermath of the battle, everyone was dead, Jeet’s people had fought valiantly and died chrome.

Jeet didn’t wake up, just kept making that horrible rattling sound as he drew in shallow breaths. Scab frowned, gingerly touching the arrow wound in Jeet’s chest, and then working his fingers up to the cut in his scalp. Had this happened a few years ago he wouldn’t have any idea what to do, but he’d hung upside down in the shop of an Organic Mechanic for nearly a year, he couldn’t help but pick up some of his medical care.

The head wound wasn’t nearly as terrible as the sound he was making and Scab pressed his ear against Jeet’s chest to listen. With a grunt he pulled back, pushing his palm against Jeet’s ribs, watching as he started to wheeze, then drew in a deep breath as the excess air in his chest cavity was forced out through the arrow wound. It still didn’t sound right, like something was bubbling in his lungs, but Scab wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Jeet still wasn’t awake, and he’d lost a fair amount of blood. That at least was something Scab could fix. He flopped off the chair, heading towards what had been their area for the wounded before Gutgash had taken most of the mattresses. There were debris all around, but fortunately the medical supplies hadn’t been taken and Scab wrapped the blood tubing around his arm and returned to Jeet’s side. Generally he was above the people he was giving blood too, something about that made his blood flow faster according to the Organic. But Jeet was his Imperator, he couldn’t push him off the chair so he was on the floor while the War Boy was sitting on his throne above him. Hopefully being next to him was enough.

He’d never hooked up the bloodline himself before, though he was intimately familiar with how it worked. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation before he slammed the thicker metal end into his chest, fingers curling and eyes closing as he worked to ignore how much it hurt. He’d lied to Blas before, that needle was incredibly painful. The other side with the hooked needle went into Jeet’s neck and Scab smiled proudly as he watched his blood travel through the clear tubing and into his leader.

He squirmed around pulling his legs up and across Jeet’s lap so they flopped over the arm of the chair keeping him upright. Hopefully he wouldn’t pass out and fall off the chair and yank the line out. Though passing out was a distinct possibility, he’d lost a whole lot of blood too. With a grunt he closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair and settling down to wait.

—

It was probably the longest period of uninterrupted rest Jeet had gotten in years. He didn’t exactly wake feeling refreshed, but at least the pain he was experiencing was different than the massive headache he normally lived with. With a start he tried to bolt upwards, disoriented and thinking Gutgash was still there. He barely got an inch off the seat plopping back down into the cushion, pinned by something heavy across his lap.

Disbelieving he stared at the War Boy, “Scab?” He was sprawled out across Jeet, the blood line still connecting them. Scab grunted and looked up at him, groggy from the hours of blood loss following the disaster on the floor below. “I watched you die.”

Scab grinned, “You witnessed me?” He weakly leaned back against the plushness of the chair. “I am awaited.”

With a roll of his eyes Jeet lifted Scab’s legs up so he could get off the chair and look around. And he did not like what he saw. Everyone was dead, the storerooms had been plundered, even the electric lights had been taken. “How in the hell did you get up here?”

Wriggling a bit Scab rolled onto his side, watching Jeet. “I crawled. It took forever.” But now that Jeet was awake he could start fixing the major problem in the stronghold. “I can’t find Blas.”

“Because that son of a whore Gutgash took him. When I get my hands on that snake…” Jeet snarled fists curling around the metal railing as he looked around, tight enough to look like he might rip it out of the ground. Pushing his fingers against his forehead he took a few deep breaths. Concentrate on the now, he had a stronghold to think about. Though it looked like he might have only one person left to provide for. Turning back to Scab he finally really looked at the War Boy.

Leaning over Scab he ran his fingers along the War Boy’s absolutely destroyed leg and hip, looking vaguely concerned. Scab froze, unsure what to do, he wasn’t used to being looked at like that by an Imperator, much less having one inspect his injuries. Last time that had happened it hadn’t gone well for him at all.

“Sheeeeiiiit.” He let out a low whistle, stunned at how injured Scab looked and … honestly worried. He’d never seen someone that injured who’d lived, and right now, Scab was all he had left. “You can’t feel none of this right?” He hoped not, because everything that was wrong with him added up to being one painful injury.

“No.” He watched as Jeet poked at a few of the bone pieces sticking out of his hip then grunted in surprise and almost pushed him away as the warlord shoved his arms under him and picked him up with no warning. Legs hanging limp as they always did, but his waist was twisted around in a strange way, and one leg was now longer than the other.

Jeet set him down on one of the few remaining mattresses, then put his palm flush against Scab’s chest, slowly pulling out the bloodline. He held it up, waiting until the blood emptied out of it before unhooking the line from his own neck. Not a drop of blood wasted, and more importantly no reason for Scab to start yelling about his blood being spilled. “Did you put this in yourself?”

“Had to. I’m all that’s left.” Scab pressed his hand to his chest, staunching the blood trickling out; that hurt a whole lot more than he was letting on. Though Jeet could tell, the only time Scab’s voice got raspy and wheezy like that was when he was in pain and being bled dry.

Kneeling next to him Jeet started sorting out the mush that was his leg, pulling his pants off so he could get a better look at the damage. He wasn’t saying anything but his mind was racing. Everyone in his stronghold was dead, all that he had worked to build here was ruined in a matter of minutes. And all he had left was a broken War Boy who acted like he hated him most of the time. Frowning he pushed his thumbs against the bone shards, shoving them back into place.

He hadn’t counted on the War Boy’s undying loyalty though. Scab honestly thought that Jeet was his Imperator and he was acting accordingly. What had it taken for this crippled, injured War Boy to drag himself up a flight of stairs simply to let himself bleed to death to save his leader? Jeet was strangely honored, and didn’t really know how to react to that.

Straightening Scab’s leg out he piled metal scrap on either side of it to keep it in place. The bones were shattered and broken and his hip was mangled, his whole leg was turning black and purple from bruising, and Jeet didn’t know what to do to help him. Scab couldn’t feel it, but all it would take was one of those dozens of fractures and injuries to get infected and Scab would die, poisoned to death by his own legendary blood.

“Stay here and don’t move. I’m gonna have a look around. See if we’ve got anything left.” Jeet turned and left, sorting through the wreckage of what was once his bustling stronghold. He hadn’t had many people, but he’d had enough to make his little keep a constant flurry of activity and not an easy target for raiders. Most of the dead bodies were on the ground floor and Jeet was going to have to drag them out before they started to smell, he just didn’t want to deal with it right now. First things first, he closed the main gate of the lighthouse, securing it up against the wall and making sure no curious Buzzards could get in once they learned of Gutgash’s attack.

He started sorting through demolished shelving and broken pieces of cars, checking all his storerooms and finding them empty. But there was one that the door was blocked by a chunk of the lighthouse that had fallen in. Something Blas Cap had thrown against the wall had knocked a bunch of shelving in front of a storage room door, and once Jeet moved it all out of the way he found that at least that area had been untouched. Surveying what he had he mentally started calculating how long they could live off of it. He had enough canned food for at least a month and … No wait, there were only two people to feed now. He had enough food for the year.

Grabbing two cans of condensed soup he returned to where Scab was, not surprised at all to find he hadn’t moved. The War Boy was annoying, aggressive and obnoxious, but he was obedient. He might complain about an order he was given by Jeet, loudly even, but he always did as he was told. Jeet set the cans on the mattress and motioned to Scab to lean forward. He settled behind him, supporting Scab’s back against his chest so the War Boy could sit up comfortably. Working the cans open he handed one to his last remaining stronghold resident. “Eat up. For once we’ve got plenty.”

Scab eagerly dug his fingers into the can, slurping up congealed chunks of cream of mushroom while Jeet drank his in one go, chucking the can to the side. He wrapped an arm around Scab’s middle holding him upright while he ate, staring off into the distance, chin on Scab’s shoulder, as his mind worked out dozens of plans for what to do next.

He needed to keep the lighthouse secure and he needed to find more people to help him do that, he wasn’t a Warlord without people to lead. All he had were his resources, and right now he had food, minimal weapons, a few mattresses and one very loyal, but practically useless War Boy. He didn’t even want to use Scab as a bloodbag right now, he’d already lost far too much blood, and then made it worse by hooking himself up to Jeet. Though he’d saved Jeet’s life by doing that, and Jeet was more than well aware of that fact.

Jeet’s fingers absently stroked against Scab’s stomach as he struggled to figure out what he should do first. He wanted his stronghold back. He wanted his resources back. Jeet’s arm around Scab tightened as he clenched his jaw. He wanted Blas Cap back.

“You any good with a crossbow?”

Scab shifted, surprised by the sudden question and a little unsettled by the extended close contact. “Never shot one before. Why?”

“I’m gonna leave it with you and I don’t want you shootin’ yourself with it.” Not that he thought Scab would actually do that. He was loud, he wasn’t inept.

“Leave it? Where are you going?” Scab tried to twist around so he could look at him but Jeet tightened his arms around him and kept him pinned flush to his chest. He didn’t want Scab watching him while he fretted about the half-assed plan that was forming in his head.

“To Gutgash’s. I’m gonna get back what’s mine.”


	4. They're just resources

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeet has a plan. Not a good one, but a plan nonetheless.

Scab was a mess. Physically. Mentally. And Jeet had no idea what to do about it. He was pretty sure the War Boy hadn’t slept more than fifteen minutes in the three days since the Lighthouse had been ransacked. He’d wake up in a panic after passing out for a few minutes, struggling against things that weren’t there and then trying to get up only to have Jeet shove him back down. The warlord was considering tying him up, otherwise his leg would never heal.

But that didn’t look promising either. His whole leg had gone purple and red and swelled up, while his hip looked twisted and Jeet couldn’t even begin to set the bones that were shattered into pieces. Had the injury been lower down he would have suggested cutting Scab’s leg off, but as it was he couldn’t very well cut his pelvis off. There was nothing to do but wait and see what happened. And Scab was not known for his patience.

Jeet was busy trying to fix his stronghold while he wracked his brain for how to strike back at Gutgash. He stripped the corpses and dumped them into the ditch outside, fixed the door, collected the remaining supplies and made sure they couldn’t be invaded again. But all this meant that Scab was abandoned on the upper level of the Lighthouse. Just alone with his thoughts. Crippled and helpless. He urgently needed to prove his worth to his Imperator.

Unfortunately that generally took the form of yelling at him and trying to get downstairs. Jeet was frustrated beyond belief and well past his breaking point. The tension between them couldn’t last before something snapped.

“If you were a better Imperator this wouldn’t have happened! You should have punished those who defied you. Blood-red rivers to show them the absolution of your rule. They never would have thought to traitor you!”

“I’m not a damn Imperator.” Jeet snarled, pacing back and forth. They yelled at each other so often that at this point it didn’t even seem strange to be having a full blown argument with someone laying on the ground. “And I’m not about to start torturing people for show. I’m not one of you blood-crazed junkers.”

“No. You’re not glorious. You’ll never be chrome. Scrotus would have never allowed..” He cut himself off, glaring at the ground.

“What? What would Scrotus do? Because in case you forgot, he’s dead. And I’m still here dealing with his leftovers!”

“None of his followers would defy him! War torn and battle ready, they would have seen this to the end! You’re weak! Burnt up. You’ll never walk in the shadow of the Immortan.”

Jeet stood straighter, glaring down his nose at the War Boy. “You’ll never walk anywhere.”

Scab stared at him, opened his mouth to respond, then looked down at the ground again. Staying silent he turned, weight up on his palms as he dragged himself away. Jeet watched as Scab crawled back to the mattress, his lower half just dead weight behind him, as he pulled himself along by his hands. The Warlord took a few steps towards him as the War Boy collapsed onto the threadbare cushion, laying on his side with his legs awkwardly twisted beneath him. Then he shook his head, making a disgusted gesture in Scab’s direction before storming back downstairs to continue working.

—

Blas Cap lay curled up in a ball, pressed against the back of the cage he was in. He hadn’t slept in days, unable to stay asleep for more than a few minutes before someone from Gutgash’s crew pounded on the top of the cage and woke him up. It would have been hard to sleep without that anyway, there was no real comfortable way to lay in the too small cage, and the more he curled up the more his back burned, fresh lash marks still bleeding from where they’d whipped him.

He’d been tortured before by the Thrall Rustlers, but not with this intensity. And they hadn’t wanted anything, it was just for their amusement, where Gutgash was trying to pry information out of him. But the Bullet Boy was being obstinate, telling them nothing. In fact he hadn’t said much more than a few words since he’d arrived. He winced as the cage was opened, hearing the telltale sound of Gutgash’s crutch as he entered the room.

“Let’s get our guest out. Have ourselves a little conversation.”

Blas thrashed as he was lifted out of the cage and dumped on the floor, forced into a kneeling position in front of the Stronghold leader. He was shaking, sleep deprivation and hunger taking their toll on his already damaged body, but he was still defiant, refused to even acknowledge that Gutgash was there.

“You could make this so easy on yourself. Just tell us about making black powder and all this torment will stop. You can have yourself a good meal, and some sleep.”

Blas continued to look at the ground by Gutgash’s feet silently.

“What we’ve done to you is nothing. I’m going to be generous and give you until tomorrow, then I let my interrogator have you. I’ll be honest with you, I don’t know what methods he uses to get information, I’ve never wanted to know, but he always gets results.”

The Bullet Boy didn’t reply, far past caring about what happened to him. He’d cheated death a lot in his life, maybe it was finally catching up to him.

Gutgash nodded to the guards. “Whip him again, and then let him be. We’ll let him sleep on it.”

—

Jeet cursed and kicked the mechanism that worked the giant door to the Lighthouse, closing it behind him. It was hard to see in the gloom of dusk but there was a gory trail of blood leading from the bottom of the stairs to the garage and Jeet threw open the door, storming up to Scab who had dragged himself into the half made car he and Blas Cap had stolen. “The hell are you doing?”

The War Boy refused to look at him, clutching a tool belt with one hand as he tried to maneuver his limp legs around to be able to work on the car. It was all they had left, Gutgash’s war party either hadn’t seen it, or didn’t think it valuable enough to steal. “I’m not gonna die soft.”

“You’re gonna die stupid if you don’t stop tearing your leg all up.”

Scab shrugged. He hadn’t talked to Jeet at all since their last argument, remaining curled on his side, catatonic, until deciding to get up and do something. Anything.

Jeet angrily grabbed his arm, trying to yank him out of the car, fully expecting Scab to resist, to snarl and fight him like he normally did. So he was utterly unprepared for Scab to basically do nothing, let himself be pulled off the seat and fall in a pile on the ground, legs still drooped over the door sill. Jeet stared. Scab was having some sort of mental breakdown, he’d been silent for an entire day and had stopped fighting. Something was vastly, terribly wrong with him.

Bending down Jeet scooped him up, cradling him to his chest and bringing him back up to the mattress on the second floor. Scab just lay there, letting himself be manhandled as Jeet once again straightened out his leg and used various metal pieces and leather belts to strap a makeshift splint onto him. When he was done he sat there in silence for a while, hand resting on Scab’s shoulder.

“Leaving tomorrow.”

Scab finally looked up at him. “We’re gonna go get Blas back?”

“I’m gonna get Blas back. You’re gonna stay here.” Scab started to say something else, struggled to get up. Jeet held him down, silently relieved that at least he was doing something other than laying there completely apathetic. “I need you in the Stronghold.”

Scoffing Scab looked away again. “Need me to stay here and die soft.”

“No. I need you to stay here and protect the Lighthouse. I’ve gotta have somewhere to come home to.”

Scab still didn’t respond, his jaw clenched as he stared up at the catwalks above him.

“You’re gonna be in charge while I’m gone.” Not that he’d be in charge of much. And it was true that he couldn’t take Scab along for purely practical reasons, but he also wanted to make sure someone stayed to defend the Lighthouse. Scab was pretty useless most of the time, but he was entirely capable of shooting anyone who walked in the door that wasn’t Jeet or Blas Cap. He just needed to find a way to make Scab understand that.

“In charge of what?” He was starting to sound wheezy again, the way he got when he’d been hooked up as a bloodbag for too long.

“The Lighthouse. Supplies. Anyone that comes by seeking shelter. Fighting off raiders. You’re my second in command.” By default since he was all Jeet had. But for as frustratingly obnoxious as Scab was, Jeet had full confidence that if anyone actually tried to invade the stronghold the War Boy would kill them with his bare hands if he had to, or die trying. How could he make sure that Scab actually did that and didn’t lay around in a puddle of self-deprecation until he died from dehydration though?

Scab’s eyes flicked back to him momentarily before he resumed his stare down with the ceiling.

“You’re my champion.”

That was it. Scab’s eyes grew huge as he turned to stare at Jeet. He propped himself up to a sitting position, mouth slightly agape as he struggled to find words.

“Think you can handle it?”

“Of course! I’ll keep the place real shine for you.” Scab was grinning again and Jeet breathed a silent sigh of relief that he seemed to be back to normal. Scab made a move like he was going to hug Jeet, but then pulled back. War Boys didn’t hug their Imperators.

“Good. Because if anything happens to my crossbow I’m gonna string you up.”

Scab nodded and smiled, apparently pleased with the threat. Jeet would never understand how Scab’s thought process worked, but at least he knew enough to keep Scab appeased and get what he wanted.

Jeet settled down next to him. He wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, not when what he was about to attempt was so incredibly foolhardy that he was likely to die immediately. There was a good chance he was leaving the Lighthouse to Scab permanently.

He was actually relieved when Scab muttered something in his sleep in the middle of the night and turned over to press against him. Wrapping an arm around him, Jeet pulled him close as Scab snuffled something soft and clung to him. The Warboy likely thought he was Blas, and Jeet stroked his side so he wouldn’t wake up. At least someone would get some sleep before Jeet went on a suicide mission in the morning.

The darkness seemed to press in closer as Jeet stared up at the ceiling. When had he gotten so soft? He was a Warlord, had taken the Lighthouse by force and built it up from nothing all by himself. Through sheer determination and cunning he’d become a force in the Balefire, a constant thorn in Scrotus’s side. And now he was laying on the ground holding a mangled War Boy as if the man was a lifeline at sea. And worse he was going to risk his life for another maimed enemy.

But Blas Cap was more than just a prisoner, or a resource. He was a member of Jeet’s Stronghold and Jeet wasn’t about to let anyone under his care be tortured by Gutgash. The man likely had the Thrall Rustlers in his employ. Hell, he had probably been chummy with Stank Gum too. After the attack there was no limit to how low Jeet thought the man could sink.

It had been five days since the Stronghold had fallen and Jeet needed to do whatever he was going to do soon. Gutgash would kill Blas as soon as he found out what he needed and Jeet had no idea how long that would take. Scab was surprisingly loyal and devoted, but he was a fanatical War Boy, and Blas was a Bullet Boy who had walked out of the Bullet Farm willingly. Jeet had barely had to threaten him to get him to make gunpowder, all the Bullet Boy wanted was food and a place to sleep.

Would Blas do the same for Gutgash? Jeet just didn’t know. Blas was so calm and easygoing, he seemed to get along with everyone and he might not care that Gutgash had stolen and imprisoned him. He was still technically a prisoner in the Lighthouse, though Jeet let him have infinite freedoms. But Jeet had raped him, had threatened him, and abused Scab when he felt like it. For all he knew Blas Cap was glad Gutgash had tried to kill him.

But Blas was there when Scab had gone over the railing. He’d seen Scab die too. Jeet looked down at the damaged War Boy continuing to stroke over smooth skin as the man slept. Blas Cap and Scab were … something. A set. Lovers maybe, if such a thing even existed in the Wasteland. No, he wouldn’t help Gutgash after the man killed the floppy War Boy he often used as a mattress.

Which meant that Jeet’s time was running out before Gutgash tortured it out of him, or killed him in frustration. Blas had never talked about his time with the Thrall Rustlers, but Jeet had seen the scars, he knew he’d been tortured before, he didn’t deserve that again. Jeet rubbed the blades in his forehead, his ever present headache making a bid for attention as he overthought everything like he always did. The warm body against him squirmed as Scab mumbled in his sleep again, hands tightening around Jeet as he struggled with another nightmare. Jeet rubbed his shoulder, soothing him till he calmed down and slipped back into sleep.

Some Imperator he was. Losing supplies and petting War Boys.

Morning came and Jeet had packed up his things, stashed a few weapons in the back of the car and made sure everything was in order. The rest of the weapons were on the second floor with Scab, along with all the food. Everything he needed was up there so he wouldn’t have to deal with the stairs. He’d have more than Jeet would, the car he was using was basically seats on wheels, it didn’t even have doors.

It would do. There was only a sliver of hope that he was going to succeed anyway. Scab was silently watching him from the upper platform, a good distance back from the railing, looking like a pathetic dog who’s owner was about to leave and never come back. Jeet sighed and gave one final look over his stronghold, nodded at Scab and got in the car, driving away to what would likely be his doom.

Scab waited for the sounds of the car to stop reverberating through the stronghold, lacing his fingers together in a V-8 and dropping his head against his hands.


	5. Suicide Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeet puts his plan into action.

Blas Cap was curled in on himself in the cage where Gutgash kept him. His back a mess of welts and open wounds, his skin nearly hanging off his shoulders in strips. He’d been whipped so much he could barely move without excruciating pain, and the cage wasn’t big enough for him to stretch out and relieve some of the stress on his damaged skin and muscles. They’d given him just enough food and water to keep him alive and conscious, but his stomach was gnawing at him and his mouth and throat were so dry he was having trouble breathing.

He still struggled when the cage was opened though, still tried to get away. Too weak to accomplish anything, and he knew it, he remained stubbornly determined to not go down without a fight, not in this place with these people. It only took one of Gutgash’s enforcers to subdue the Bullet Boy, pinning his arm behind him harshly and half dragging him towards the interrogation room. Gutgash’s entire stronghold had lined up to watch. This was their moment, if they could unlock the secret of gunpowder, they could rule the Wastes, it had made Jeet powerful indeed. Now it was their turn.

A familiar face from Jeet’s was on the walkway, looking guilty. The man had fully expected Jeet to be killed, that was the price of being a Warlord in the wastes. Scab too. A War Boy; expendable. He was not prepared, however; for Gutgash’s aggressive regimen of torture against the Bullet Boy who had never looked healthy and right now was clearly on the verge of death.

“Traitor!” Blas’ voice was hoarse, barely audible, but he struggled against his captor, wanting to get to him, thinking of ways to kill him that would have made Scab proud.

The man shuffled backwards, obviously uncomfortable. He hadn’t wanted this. But this was Wasteland life, what was one Bullet Boy compared to the livelihood of an entire stronghold?

The man holding Blas wrenched his arm into his back hard enough to make him cry out and drop to his knees. Attempting to get his feet under him again Blas was dragged into the interrogation room and forcibly strapped to a table, groaning in agony as his destroyed back was pushed into the rusted metal. His feet kicked and he squirmed in the restraints trying to put his weight on anything other than his back.

He was already panting, not in fear but in pain coupled with exhaustion. The interrogator approached the table, starting to stroke Blas’ head, gently, almost caressing him. A huge man, he had been a fighter at some point, probably came from Gastown’s murder dome, but found his calling in getting information out of people for Gutgash. The stronghold leader himself wasn’t there. Torture was a necessary part of life as far as Gutgash was concerned, but he took no pleasure in watching it, he just wanted the results and he trusted his interrogator to get the necessary knowledge for him without killing the prisoner.

The Bullet Boy jerked away. Or tried to anyway, he had nowhere to go. But it had the desired effect and the interrogator moved aside turning to some shelves and selecting his implements. He had knives and pliers and tongs and syringes, but what he grabbed was a black box with some cords coming out of it.

Blas Cap wasn’t a mechanic, but even he recognized it as a car battery and he stared, not understanding. Until a set of jumper cables was attached to him, clamped around his infected, injured stump of an arm. He yelped, it already hurt just to have his arm touched, let alone something exerting pressure against his inflamed muscle and skin.

With no warning the other end of the cable was attached to the battery and Blas screamed, all of his muscles contracting from the electricity arcing through his body. It was only a few seconds but it left him moaning and weakly writhing against the straps holding him down as he struggled to breathe again.

“Ready to tell us how to make gunpowder?”

Blas glared and stayed silent.

The interrogator smiled and reattached the cable.

—

Jeet could still see the Lighthouse if he turned and looked for it, but it was tiny now, a miniature spike on the far horizon. It was a vague comfort that it was still there and didn’t seem to be on fire or demolished. He could only hope that Scab was taking care of it. And if Jeet was honest with himself, he hoped that the War Boy was alright, not wallowing in misery after being left alone.

The car trundled along, off the normal pathway as Jeet reached into the crate next to him and pulled out a can of food, chucking it over his shoulder to lay half buried in the sand behind the vehicle. He was leaving a trail, one he hoped would be found and followed, and wasn’t too obviously intentional. It was a gamble, there was a chance that Roadkill would descend on it and him before he got where he was going, Gutgash’s was a few more miles away, and that would ruin everything.

Reaching up he rubbed his chest, the arrow wound stung, but what was happening internally was worse. He’d have moments where he couldn’t catch his breath at all and felt like he was suffocating. On top of that he kept vomiting up bloody chunks of who knew what, his whole body wracked with pain as he coughed. But that was a problem to deal with after he rescued Blas. And barring that he’d be dead and not have to worry about breathing ever again.

The one good thing about the messed up half of a car he was driving was that from a distance it was barely visible, so tucking it behind a rock outcropping when he got to Gutgash’s might actually keep anyone from noticing it. An armful of supplies was dumped on the road to the ship, a shiny beacon to any scavengers who might happen by. With any luck they’d be Buzzards, but Jeet wasn’t counting on having much luck left at this point. He’d used it all up by not dying from getting shot point blank, by Gutgash not demolishing the stronghold, by Scab actually surviving a fall onto concrete.

He was tucked into a petrified chunk of coral munching on a can of dog food while waiting for nightfall when he heard the sounds. The wind had changed, carrying noise from the ship to where Jeet was hidden. Screams. They went on and on before there would be a few minutes of silence and then more shrieks of absolute agony.

Jeet closed his eyes, bowing his head. It had to be Blas Cap. He’d never heard the man even raise his voice before, let alone scream and he could have gone his whole life without knowing what that sounded like. The Bullet Boy’s voice was shrill and hoarse, like he almost didn’t have the strength to even yell anymore. At least it meant he was still alive.

It went on for what seemed like hours and Jeet was at his wits end, standing by while someone he knew was horribly abused was almost more agonizing than being tortured himself. Made worse by the fact that he had no idea what they were doing to him. Cutting off his other arm maybe, ripping out his fingernails, blinding him, setting him on fire, Jeet’s imagination was running wild and his twitchiness caused him to almost fall out of his perch.

Night came and with it the screams stopped. Jeet silently prayed that it was because they were done for the day, and not that they had killed him. Though Gutgash was many things, but he wasn’t stupid nor careless, he wouldn’t be done with the Bullet Boy until he’d wrung every ounce of information out of him. And judging by all the screaming, Blas Cap hadn’t been very talkative.

Jeet suddenly grinned. From the east he could see the cars, a whole fleet of them, following the trail he’d left. The Buzzards had seized on the fallen supplies immediately, following them to their source. Along with the food, Jeet had led them to one of Gutgash’s many hidden water droplet collectors, but the icing on the cake had been the hood ornament.

It had actually been Scab’s idea, and it had worked perfectly. A few random scraps, and then a precious skull of Scrotus’, made it look like Gutgash had stolen a convoy tanker and drove it into the ship. And that would be worth the risk of storming the stronghold. A fuel pod, perhaps even a shipment of vegetables from the Citadel, it was deliciously tempting to the Buzzards and they were delighted to find the water collector, shouting in their language and fanning out around the ship.

Well, it was now or never. He’d probably die but he had to take the chance. Pulling the hood of his jacket up he rolled out of his hiding place, carefully swinging a pack over his shoulder and darting towards the stronghold in the darkness. Gutgash’s people hadn’t raised the alarm yet, but it was only a matter of time, and that would scare the attackers off.

Jeet was about to give the Buzzards an opening they couldn’t resist.

—

The Lighthouse was eerily quiet. Scab could hear his own breathing, and when he dragged himself along the catwalk the sound echoed off the walls. Jeet hadn’t even been gone a day and the War Boy was already bored and overthinking everything. How long would Jeet be gone? Would he be able to complete this suicidal mission? Would he get Blas back? Was Scab here alone forever?

He sighed and flopped onto his back. Closing his eyes he reminded himself that he was Jeet’s champion. All he had to do was watch the Lighthouse so Jeet had someplace to come back to. He could do this. Even if it was just laying around and chasing off crows if they got inside somehow.

A faint rumbling sound caught his attention and he rolled over immediately grabbing the crossbow. A car, a nice one too from the sound of it. And then a few yells and a high pitched shriek. Scab slowly grinned, looking through the railing at the door to the Lighthouse which was resting slightly ajar, he hadn’t been able to close it after Jeet left and it was now a tempting target. Being stuck laying down had very few advantages, but right now one presented itself: he was barely visible from the first floor and the intruders had no idea he was there as they climbed into the Lighthouse and started whooping and running around to dig through the debris, delighted in their good fortune.

As was Scab.

—

Back in his cage, Blas lay trembling and writhing, unable to curl into any position where he wasn’t in absolute misery. He hadn’t given up any valuable information, but they had managed to torture out of him the fact that they didn’t have any of the supplies he’d need to show them how to make black powder and named at least two of the ingredients he required. Maybe three. He couldn’t really remember what exactly he’d said. His entire existence had been torment and it didn’t get much better after they’d unhooked him from the table and dragged him back into the cell. He hadn’t been able to walk, or even hold his head up.

Another scream was forced out of him when the ship reverberated with a massive explosion, the shockwaves jolting him around painfully. Even through the agony his brain immediately registered the fact that the explosion had been set off improperly, not enough lead on the fuse. Dazed he curled into a ball not even wondering where the explosion had come from.

Outside the ship Jeet was also well aware that it had been set off wrong as he had not been far enough away when it blew and was sent sprawling into the ground. Groaning he lay there for a few moments, stunned and hacking up dust and blood. That didn’t feel good at all. But he’d worry about it later. Dusting himself off he looked at his handiwork. Honestly he’d been lucky he hadn’t exploded himself digging the mine up from where Blas had buried it outside the Lighthouse to protect them from bands of War Boys. But it’d served an even greater purpose, blasting a fairly sizable hole in the hull of the ship.

The nearby Buzzards had nearly ran away from the blast, but when the dust cleared and they realized that there was now an easy access point into the Stronghold there was no way they’d back down from the opportunity.

Jeet had left his crossbow with Scab, it was too recognizable, his vest was back at the Lighthouse too. Instead he was wearing a thick army jacket over a damaged shirt with a deep hood pulled low over his eyes. If anyone saw his face he’d be noticed immediately and killed. Reaching up he twisted one of the blades in his forehead until it bled, trickling down his face and sending a sharp jolt of pain down his spine.

The Buzzards were yelling and throwing their own bombs and mines around adding to the confusion and widening the hole into the stronghold. Chaos was spreading throughout and Jeet was able to easily slide in without being noticed. Dirty, disheveled, scrawny and now bloody, he looked like any other member of Gutgash’s crew and no one questioned him as he moved through the ship.

However; this was as far as Jeet had thought the plan through: blow a hole in the ship, get inside during the fighting, get Blas, leave. Once inside he realized that Gutgash’s domain was much bigger than he’d originally thought and he had no idea where they would keep prisoners. He darted around, panting heavily and knocking into walls as he fought down the vertigo that was starting to plague him. He would have never found the Bullet Boy if the Buzzards hadn’t set off another large scale explosion that rocked the whole ship and sent Jeet careening into a railing. But Jeet could hear the screaming again and set off towards it at a dead run.

“Blas?” Finally finding him Jeet gave a frustrated jerk on the front of the cage, eyes darting around in the hopes that there would be a convenient key hanging on the wall. “Blas, can you hear me?”

The Bullet Boy groaned and opened his eyes, weakly turning to face the warlord. “Jeet?”

Jeet cursed, squatting down so he could see Blas a little better. His eyes were disturbing, they weren’t just bloodshot, they were solid red, like his eyes had somehow filled with blood. He could tell that Blas was incredibly injured, but he couldn’t see the extent in the dim lighting. He needed to get him out of the cage. Bounding back to his feet Jeet launched out of the room, rifling through other store rooms until he found a set of bolt cutters and raced back to cut the chain holding the door of Blas’ cell closed. Going full tilt because if he stopped for even a second he’d lose the momentum and never be able to regain it.

The Bullet Boy screamed again when he was pulled out of the cage, mumbling incoherently and falling into a pile. Jeet cradled him to his chest, warm blood starting to gush down his arms from Blas’ back, but there was no other way to carry him that wouldn’t injure him more.

“You’re not really here are you?” Blas was staring up at Jeet’s face under his hood from eyes that were only half open.

Jeet grunted in response, now dealing with the fact that he’d have to leave the same way he came in. Which meant walking through all of Gutgash’s people and a Buzzard war party while carrying a very recognizable Bullet Boy. Blas also smelled atrocious and not just from filth and being kept in a dirty cage, he reeked of festering rot, like he might be decaying.

Blas closed his eyes and let his head hang limp, “I must be dying. Just seeing what I want to see.”

Jeet chuckled under his breath, stepping back out of sight as someone ran by, “If you were seeing what you wanted to see, you wouldn’t be seeing me.”

The Bullet Boy whispered something else, losing all coherency as he was jostled around. But at least he wasn’t screaming anymore. Jeet grimaced as he realized that the smell was coming from Blas’s arm which was hanging down limply and dripping pus and some discolored yellowish fluid that looked decidedly unhealthy.

Maybe Blas really was dying. Jeet shifted his hold on him, the blood oozing out of his back was making him slippery. Blas whined and brought his good hand up to clench in Jeet’s shirt, he was very out of it, fading in and out of consciousness as Jeet continued to make his way back to the entrance, trying to hide as much as he could.

His luck didn’t hold out for long. Gutgash rounded a corner, leaning heavily on his crutch, eyes widening as he witnessed some dirty Wastelander making off with his prisoner. No. No not some Wastelander. He couldn’t see his face or those telltale blistered scars, but the height, the build, the tweaky way he moved. Jeet would have been recognizable wearing a cardboard box.

“You’re cleverer than I gave you credit for.” Gutgash was almost impressed. Almost. He should have made sure Jeet was dead, shouldn’t have assumed he would die from what was a fatal injury. The stronghold leader had no idea how Jeet was alive, much less up and walking around, but he couldn’t let him leave. Especially not with that Bullet Boy.

Keeping his eyes on Gutgash, Jeet backed away from him, waiting for an opportunity to turn and run. He’d force his way through the turmoil around the exit if he had to, but he wasn’t giving up now. Gutgash didn’t move that fast, he wouldn’t be able to catch up to him and much as Jeet wanted to dig a knife into the mans belly, his chances of being able to get out of this situation alive were dwindling the longer he stayed.

The Buzzards were finishing up with their looting. There hadn’t been a convoy like they had expected, but there was more than enough supplies to make this one of their best hauls ever. They started to withdraw through the exit and soon the remaining members of Gutgash’s army would turn their full attention to Jeet and their leader.

Jeet looked down at Blas in his arms, he didn’t seem to be conscious anymore. Even so… “Sorry about this.” Jeet shifted him abruptly, throwing Blas over his shoulder so he could have an arm free, startling a strangled sound of torment out of the Bullet Boy. With the same motion he reached down to his pants and pulled out a thin knife, throwing it at Gutgash and turning to run before he even saw if it landed.

Gutgash retaliated immediately by leveling a pistol at Jeet’s retreating back and firing off a few shots. The knife nearly hit, the pistol missed Jeet and Blas Cap by a mile. Jeet’s staggered, off-balance sprinting actually saving both their lives.

Blas moaned and dug his fingers into Jeet’s back, in pain and disoriented by the awkward movement. Clenching his eyes closed he tried to rationalize that Jeet couldn’t actually be here, he was dead. Scab was dead. Everyone from the Lighthouse was dead. He was probably still crunched up in the cage, or even being tortured right now. There’d been tales of those who’d died soft who hallucinated as they approached the end of their half life. Blas was well past when he should have died of radiation sickness and lung rot, maybe it was all catching up to him finally.

If only dying came with the comfortable numbness he’d always thought it would, because right now pain was crashing through him. He was being shaken violently along with all the yelling and explosions, but the voices sounded strange, like he was hearing them from really far away and underground. Just an echo of an echo.

He cried out again when his shoulder his something solid, Jeet dropping him into the car. The Warlord was trying not to injure him further, but he was hurt himself; far more than he was letting on, and he wasn’t strong enough yet to be carrying people around, even emaciated Bullet Boys who weighed practically nothing.

Jeet slid into the drivers seat, taking off at full speed. Not only did he need to get away, but he was going to pass out, he could feel it, hopefully he could manage to make it back to the Lighthouse without blacking out and crashing the car. “Blas? You awake? Talk to me.”

Blas muttered something, he was only vaguely awake, and the vibration of the engine could be felt through the floorboards and was making him nauseous on top of everything else he was feeling.

“Don’t die on me now. You want Scab to skin me alive?”

“He’s dead.” Blas shifted, finally opening his eyes. Not that there was much to see in the absolute darkness of the desert. Off in the distance he could barely make out one of Scrotus’ fiery scarecrows. He was outside. Why was he outside?

“You can tell him that when you see him. He’ll probably be thrilled to have died gloriously in your eyes, stupid War Boy.”

“You’re dead too.”

Jeet grimaced. He sure felt like he was dead. He still might be dying, that wound in his chest hadn’t even begun to heal and he was running all over the place and making it worse. “Takes more than that to kill me.”

And he’d also had a fiercely loyal War Boy who refused to leave his side, much to his own detriment. Jeet glanced over his shoulder to see if they were being followed, but with the way his vision was blurring he couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter in the long run, Gutgash knew where he was going. Hoping the Buzzards decimated the residents of the ship was too much to ask for, but the man was at least going to have to take some time to replenish his supplies and gather his strength, before striking out.

Jeet was constantly thinking several weeks, months, even years ahead, something that had always benefited him in the past. But right now he was willing to wait and see what happened. He didn’t have much of a choice, he only had two followers left, and both of them were horribly injured. With a grunt he rubbed at his chest, he wasn’t doing too great either. Shaking his head violently to try and stay awake Jeet sped up, the quicker he got back to the Lighthouse the better, not just in case Gutgash was coming after him immediately, but because he was going to lose consciousness. And soon.

—

It was midafternoon the next day before Jeet turned down the path leading to the Lighthouse. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d been, he must have been using up all his luck for his entire life in these past few days. As expected he had blacked out while driving, and fairly far from the stronghold. Jeet had fallen out of the car tumbling into some rocky debris as the car drove itself into a ditch. Blas, who had been wedged on the floor between the front and back seats hadn’t even been jostled from where he was laying. Somehow they’d escaped detection, the car was hidden off the road, and Jeet looked like a lump of not very interesting debris.

He’d woken slowly, groggily staggering to his feet before panicking and running around, thinking the car, and Blas, had been stolen. The Bullet Boy, miraculously, was still in the car, curled into a ball and intensely out of it, but still alive. The car had started off as a piece of junk, could have probably survived careening off a cliff at high speeds, was still in one piece and drivable.

And now it was trundling along up the winding path to the Lighthouse, but it wasn’t the only one. There was another car sitting by the entrance, rusted but serviceable it was decorated in skulls and flames, some unused explosive tipped lances adorning the back area where a War Boy would have stood. Jeet parked and cut the engine, listening intently before getting out of the car, not that a car with no body was going to offer much protection. But it was incredibly silent, all he could hear was the sound of Blas’ raspy breathing from the backseat.

Putting his hand on the hood of the War Boy’s car, he reached down to pull a knife out of his pants, eyes on the open door to the Lighthouse. Better to be prepared even though the engine was cool, the car hadn’t run in hours. Cautiously he approached the door, on high alert and straining to hear anything. All was silence, and War Boys were not known for their stealth. He pulled his hood back so he had full range of vision as he stepped tentatively inside, ready to defend himself from an attack.

“Imperator! You’re back!” Jeet’s eyes slowly tore themselves away from the scene in front of him to the upper floor of the Lighthouse, and the War Boy up there who was dragging himself along the catwalk to the top of the stairs. Scab, splattered with dried blood, held himself up on his palms, smiling proudly down at the Warlord. “I protected the stronghold for you.”

Momentarily speechless Jeet looked around. There were four dead War Boys on the ground, three had been pincushioned with arrows, as were most of the walls, Scab was apparently not a very good shot. And the fourth had been attacked with a knife and partially disemboweled before being pushed over the railing and splattering everywhere. “You…” He swallowed hard, not really believing what he was seeing. Maybe Blas was right and he really was dead and seeing what he wanted to. “You did good. Told you I needed you here.”

Scab beamed at the praise, waiting eagerly at the top of the stairs for Jeet to come reward him.

“I need you to get whatever medical supplies we have left. Blas is hurt real bad.” Jeet turned to go grab him out of the car, missing Scab’s face that went from smug pride to panicked unease in a matter of seconds.

Blas blinked in surprise as Jeet gently laid him down on the stronghold’s one remaining mattress, a familiar War Boy hovering around worriedly, “Scab?” He reached out to try and touch him, whole body shaking. “You died. So did Jeet. I must be dying too.”

Scab scuttled closer so that Blas could run his trembling fingers against his chest. “I’m still alive. Being thrown on the ground isn’t shine enough for me. I deserve something better. I’m the Imperator’s champion!”

That was where Jeet would have normally rolled his eyes, but he was too busy staring in disbelief at Blas’ back that had been shredded to ribbons. He was already out of his league with Scab’s destroyed leg, he was feeling that helpless frustration again while looking down at the Bullet Boy. Where should they even start?

Blas winced, as Scab re-situated himself, pulling Blas’ damaged arm out from underneath him so he could peer at it, brow furrowing in concern. “We’re gonna clean this up, wash the infection out. You’ll have a real chrome scar.” He tried to smile reassuringly, but it didn’t quite make it from his brain to his face.

“What do you need?” Jeet was their leader, their keeper since they were both prisoners, but Scab was the closest thing to an Organic that he’d come across. He knew enough to know how to best fix up Blas so Jeet was willing, just this once, to defer to him.

Too distracted by seeing Blas in such a state Scab didn’t even try and lord this moment over Jeet, simply stating, “Water. Fabric. Something to stitch with. A knife.” He looked up at his Imperator, eyes strangely apprehensive. “You’re going to have to hold him.”

Jeet nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. This was going to hurt, probably be almost as agonizing as the torture itself. Whatever that had been, Blas was so hurt it was hard to tell what had even caused it. Rubbing his own chest and trying not to think about the fact that all three of them were probably dying, Jeet got to his feet to retrieve the items Scab requested, taking a few minutes to open the door and drive both of the cars into the base of the Lighthouse, less suspicious looking from the outside.

Blas was pressed against Scab’s stomach, hand clenched tightly in his skin. It was a good thing that Scab couldn’t feel it because the Bullet Boys grip was nearly strong enough to draw blood. Jeet laid out the supplies within easy reach of Scab who was propped up on his elbow making a whole host of concerned noises at Blas.

“Let’s get this over with.” Jeet’s voice was gruff, concealing the fact that he was really worried. About both of them. Stripping out of his shirt so that it wouldn’t get covered in blood, Jeet pulled Blas firmly against his chest, pinning his good arm to his side so he couldn’t attack Scab. The War Boy nodded, reaching out to stroke Blas’ head before he started cleaning.

Tender and inflamed, Blas’ amputated arm was nearly twice the diameter of his good one. Scab was laying on his shoulder, holding Blas’ arm outstretched so he could slice it open from his elbow up to his shoulder. It was difficult to maneuver when he couldn’t sit up, but, like everything else, he managed. Blas gasped, and then made a disgusted noise as his arm started spewing bloody pus.

“How did this get that bad?” Jeet sounded horrified.

Scab glowered as he cleaned the wound as best he could with a damp rag. “He was your prisoner, why didn’t you clean it when he got here?”

Jeet glared at the War Boy, “Why didn’t you notice?”

Blas kicked and thrashed, more distressed that they were fighting than at the pain radiating from his arm. Jeet held him tighter, but remained silent, watching as Scab diligently picked grit out of Blas’ stump and cut away dead, necrotic tissue. Stitches came next, thin leather strips that had previously been used as shoelaces, loosely tying up the wound, but giving it room to breathe. Scab wasn’t really a medic, didn’t understand how the body worked, but he could replicate what he’d seen the Organic do and hope for the best.

Jeet rolled Blas around so that Scab could tend to his back, trying to remain stoic as Blas buried his face in his chest wheezing out anguished sounds. Scab wasn’t happy either, eyes flicking from what he was working on to what he could see of Blas’ face.

“Done.”

Jeet released Blas, shifting him onto his side, the only uninjured part of him. Scab very carefully pressed against him, hand resting gingerly on his shoulder, watching with obvious concern as Blas weakly curled into a ball. Jeet got to his feet, frowning down at his chest that was now coated in Blas’ blood. He still had so much he needed to do: barricade the door, get rid of the bodies on the first floor that were starting to smell, tend to his own wound, make sure Scab hadn’t horribly injured himself even more while left alone, inventory their supplies.

But then Blas whimpered and reached out for him, and Jeet, a Warlord, the leader of the Lighthouse, sighed and laid back down, letting his wounded resource dig his fingers into his arm as he struggled to rest. Scab met Jeet’s eyes over Blas’ shoulder, looking uncharacteristically soft, face contorted with uncertainty.

It was going to be a long road for all of them.


	6. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you were reading for the NSFW, it's finally here.

Scab was sleeping fitfully, waking up every hour to check on the Bullet Boy sleeping at his side. Blas had been in a nightmare of pain since the rescue from Gutgash, and there wasn’t anything Jeet or Scab could do about it. And it wasn’t like either of them were in prime health either. Jeet had collapsed several times from doing too much too fast and not allowing himself to heal. Scab had collected him each time and awkwardly dragged him along the ground and set him next to Blas so he could take care of both of them.

The War Boy was doing all he could, but he was limited by his mobility and by not knowing how to fix what was wrong with Jeet or how to help ease Blas’ pain. It would have been nice if Gutgash had left them one of the cases of alcohol they’d stolen from the Buzzards. But all they had was some water and food, no frivolous luxuries, it was a minor miracle they still had one mattress. And while he could be an idiot at times, Scab wasn’t stupid, and though he couldn’t feel his legs, he knew he was the most battered of the three of them. He’d been hiding the extent of his injuries from Blas, but Jeet knew. Another thing to add to the Warlord’s endless list of things to worry about.

He woke to Jeet sitting next to him, close enough to be nearly touching him, but not quite. Grunting, Scab rolled over to face him, propping himself up on his elbow and trying to look alert and like he was waiting for instructions from his Imperator.

Jeet looked worn, stressed to the extreme, his features pinched from constant pain. At least that part he was used to. And taking care of people in his stronghold was something he did normally, but not at this level. He wasn’t ever emotionally invested in them; people died all the time in the Wasteland. That was just how life went. Living was rough, and hardening your heart to it was the best defense.

But Jeet really did care about these two. More than was probably healthy now that he thought about it. But it was far too late now. He nodded at Scab when he realized he was awake and at attention. Or what passed for attention from the half functional War Boy.

“Think I got something to help your leg heal up. Otherwise,” Jeet grimaced, not liking what he was going to say, but he didn’t hide things. There wasn’t any point in skirting around the issue; Jeet was one to say what he meant and just get on with it. “Otherwise we’re gonna have to cut it off.”

“Cut his leg off?” Blas had woken up and was watching them both from where he was curled up holding his stump of an arm.

Scab groaned, not turning around to look at him and instead narrowing his eyes at Jeet, annoyed that Blas was going to ask all kinds of prying questions.

“You didn’t show him did you?” Jeet wasn’t surprised, Scab was a prideful thing. He shoved Scab onto his back, unbuckling his pants and pulling them off before Scab could gather his strength to roll around and knock him away. Scab grumbled and shifted around so he could look at his lower half.

His shattered leg and hip looked atrocious, twisted and deformed, and his thigh was an unhealthy purplish black around the injury. The protruding bones had been pushed back into place and his skin had healed, but none of them had the knowledge of how to set bones. Even if they had, his leg might have been too far gone anyway, splintered from the impact with the ground.

Blas made a shocked sound, sitting up and putting his hand on Scab’s stomach as he took in the horrible sight. Knowing Scab couldn’t feel his legs wasn’t very reassuring when seeing the enormity of the injury. Scab refused to look at Blas, glaring down at his legs. First they traitor him by not working, and now this.

Jeet ignored Blas for the moment, the Bullet Boy had a hard enough time with his own injuries, he didn’t need to couple that with the thought that his War Boy mattress might need to be horribly maimed, or worse, might die. Rubbing at Scab’s feet, Jeet almost smiled as the War Boy’s toes curled in response to his stroking. His feet were still nice and warm, nothing was wrong with blood flow, which was reassuring. Provided infection didn’t spread.

Scab grunted, he had good days sometimes where he could wriggle his toes a little, which was almost more infuriating since he still couldn’t feel it. Like his legs were taunting him. Blas stroked his side as he watched, focusing on that instead of the pain wracking his whole body. Gutgash’s torture had imparted lasting effects on the malnourished, sickly Bullet Boy.

This was their last shot at keeping Scab’s legs intact and Jeet silently prayed to any gods that might exist that it worked. Cutting off Scab’s leg might be the only way to prevent infection and gangrene, but he’d likely bleed to death. Also Blas would throw a fit. Jeet wrapped Scab’s leg with some fabric he’d scavenged, and then set a few pieces of rusted rebar against it, tightening it to his skin with a belt. He slipped his pants back on, and then used a length of chain to bind his legs together, keeping them nice and straight so that Scab couldn’t inadvertently injure himself more.

The main problem was that Scab carried himself around on his hands, letting his legs drag behind him. Not only was it tearing up his feet, it was making his injury worse. But Jeet had a solution to that too. Sliding his palms under Scab’s back he flipped him onto his stomach, ignoring the cursing that erupted afterwards. He knew Scab hated being shoved around, it probably made him feel helpless, but right now Jeet didn’t care. He was more concerned with keeping the obnoxious idiot alive.

Forcing his arms under him again he picked Scab up, resisting the squirming as the War Boy loudly protested the awkward positioning where all he could see was the floor. He was quickly set back down, chest flat against a fabric wrapped chunk of metal. Perplexed Scab stopped yelling and looked back at himself laying a few inches off the ground.

And then Jeet kicked it, sending him rolling slowly towards Blas at a strange angle. The Bullet Boy weakly grinned as Scab spun slowly and came to rest gently against Blas’ leg.

“Use your hands.” Jeet made a paddling motion in front of him, something almost like a smile on his face.

Scab looked comically confused as he looked down at what he was laying on. Not understanding how the casters attached to the underside worked he accidentally scooted backwards, panicking and pushing up with his hands, nearly flipping the thing. Jeet snickered and knelt next to him rearranging him so he was balanced over the wheels.

“Try again. And go slow.” The last thing Jeet wanted was Scab slamming into his shins with the sharp corners of this contraption.

Scab planted his hands again, pushing off and slowly wheeling himself across the metal floor. It was difficult to see where he was going since he wasn’t very upright, but he grinned as he steered himself in figure eights. It sure was easier to get around like this. As he propelled himself past the mattress, Blas reached out and grabbed his arm, rolling him up next to him so he could hug against his back.

Scab smiled broadly, he liked that. Mobility and Blas could tug him around; lots of raunchy possibilities started swirling through his warped mind. Jeet nodded at them, the closest he’d get to looking genuinely pleased, and left them alone. He had a Stronghold to take care of.

—

Jeet ran his hands along Blas’ damaged arm, gently probing the healed wound. It had been a few months since he’d rescued the Bullet Boy from Gutgash and he was healing up nicely, even gained a little weight. Scab had been right about the scar though, it was thick and gnarly looking, dark and puckered down the length of what remained of his arm.

“How’s it feel?”

Blas shrugged, letting Jeet examine him as he sat on the mattress. “It hurts, but not as bad as it did. And it don’t look disgusting anymore.”

Jeet gently rolled him over so he could inspect his back, running his fingers along the scars there. Everything seemed to be on track to a healthy Bullet Boy. Or healthier anyway, he was likely always going to look like the sickly half-life he was, but Jeet and Scab would keep him alive as long as they could.

Blas rolled his shoulders, letting out a soft sigh as Jeet’s hands explored his skin. Jeet chuckled, kneading into Blas’ shoulders. It hadn’t been his intention for this to escalate further, but if Blas was going to encourage more touching, Jeet wasn’t about to turn it down.

From downstairs came the squeaky sound of Scab rolling around on his creeper, grabbing a tool and scuttling back. He was busily working on their one remaining car, trying to make it into a proper vehicle and into something he could somehow drive himself. His leg had stopped being a lumpy purple mess, and while it was nowhere near healed, it at least looked hopeful that they wouldn’t have to cut it off.

“Am I gonna make it?” Blas leaned back against Jeet, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

Oh that was new. Blas was never that forthright; he must have been feeling a lot better. “Looks that way. I better check though.” Jeet slid his hands down Blas’ stomach towards the hem of his pants, stroking him with one hand as he undid his belt. Blas panted lowly, closing his eyes and arching his back against Jeet’s chest.

Jeet was instantly aroused, Blas never instigated anything, he’d been far too abused in his life to understand that he had any autonomy over his own body. But the Bullet Boy did enjoy the way Jeet made him feel. Scab too, except Blas was hesitant to even touch Scab right now. The War Boy was still healing, and when he got excited he forgot to take it easy and would injure himself worse if he wasn’t careful.

Jeet bit at Blas’ neck, encouraging those breathy sounds the Bullet Boy was so good at making. Pulling back he shifted around, setting Blas down on his back so he could hover over him. Jeet was very aware that Blas didn’t really like having anything happening behind him where he couldn’t see, and got panicky if he was rolled onto his stomach. The Warlord could imagine all kinds of scenarios where that could have gone horribly wrong for Blas, most of them involving the Thrall Rustlers that had kept him captive.

Blas wrapped his arm around the Warlord to pull him down as he kicked his pants off. Jeet nibbled down his neck to his chest. He was always gentle with Blas, when he wanted to be rough .. well, that’s what Scab was for. There was something about the Bullet Boy that made Jeet want to take care of him, the man just exuded softness.

Squirming, Blas anchored his lanky legs around Jeet’s waist, hooking his ankles in the small of his back. Jeet groaned, feeling the heat from the man’s groin against his stomach. He wedged his hand between them, fighting down the urge to just start fucking him as Blas wrapped him up in those skinny limbs. He didn’t want to hurt him, wanted to keep him feeling good, and most of all keep those soft moans coming.

Shuddering and groaning Blas dug his fingers into Jeet’s shoulder, wanting more. He’d missed Jeet. The Warlord was a crotchety, cranky ball of twitchiness most of the time, but Blas liked him anyway. He didn’t even care that the man thought of him as a resource to use, didn’t begrudge how he’d treated him initially. That was just how life in the Wasteland worked. The important thing was that he made him feel alive, and he seemed to be fond of Blas. And occasionally Scab.

But Blas had a terrible sense of self worth if he thought that Jeet was merely ‘fond’ of him. Jeet considered him one of the easiest people to get along with he’d ever met. Sure he was probably the most valuable resource in the entire Balefire, but he was also soft and loving and happily made sure that Jeet didn’t work himself to death. That was definitely worth going on a suicide rescue mission into the heart of his hated rival’s stronghold.

That was all far from Jeet’s mind as he settled into the Bullet Boy, licking down his throat as Blas gasped and arched against him. He was usually very quiet during sex, but those breathless little sounds he made were more than enough to encourage Jeet. He actually moaned as Jeet thrust into him, clutching at the man’s shoulders.

Continuing to assault Blas’ neck as he rocked into him Jeet couldn’t get enough, hands clawing at his hips to get even more leverage. Blas writhed, eyes closed as he tried to wrap his arm around Jeet’s shoulder, his back, and tangle in the man’s hair all at once.

Blas left long scratch marks down Jeet’s back before he collapsed against the mattress, sweaty and spent. Jeet wasn’t far behind, giving him one last deep bite to his chest before he slid to the side, pausing only long enough to catch his breath before he gathered up his clothes. Blas happily rolled around, watching Jeet as he switched from relaxed and happy to his normal state of scheming and worrying. At least he’d given him some stress relief, even if only for a few minutes.

Stretched out on the mattress Blas was content to nap away the rest of the day, basking in the warm satisfied feeling radiating out from his core. Some time later he was woken by the sound of Scab snuffling against him. Shifting around he reached out to pet Scab as the War Boy whined and pressed his face into his stomach.

“Stop doing that.” Blas pushed him away, his penchant for sniffing at the Bullet Boy was really unsettling.

Scab whimpered, “You’ve been with the Imperator.” He grabbed at Blas’ shoulders, pushing him down on the mattress so he could lick at the bite marks across the smaller man’s chest.

Blas groaned, letting Scab work his tongue across his torso for a few moments before he shoved at him. “Knock it off. You’re gonna twist your leg all around and make it worse again.”

“Don’t care.” Scab didn’t go away, pulling himself fully on top of Blas and aggressively nuzzling into him. “Want you.”

“Scab.” Blas’ voice was stern as the War Boy continued to make high keening noises and grope all over him.

“But I wanna!” Pouting he pulled back, looking absolutely pathetic as he rested his chin in his hands, staring down at Blas.

“And I don’t want to have to hold you while Jeet saws your leg off.” Blas moved to the side and patted the mattress next to him. “Lay right here.”

Scab sighed and complied, rolling off to the side and laying down where Blas indicated. Blas smiled softly at him before pressing into his chest, letting the larger War Boy wrap him up in his long arms.

“You just need to heal on up. Then we can do whatever you want.”

Scab groaned. “That’s forever from now!” He dramatically flopped onto the smaller Bullet Boy, smushing him into the mattress.

Blas was unamused, wriggling around under him to try and get free. “You’ll be fine. You lived your whole life before you met me and Jeet; you’ll survive a few more months.”

Grudgingly letting Blas up he settled back on his side, “I could walk then.”

“Yeah, I had two arms then. What’s your point?” Blas crankily smacked Scab’s chest with his palm, annoyed that his nap was being interrupted by the loudmouth War Boy.

Scab huffed and let Blas use him like a blanket, unhappy with not getting what he wanted. Blas reached up to stroke at his chest where he’d hit him, closing his eyes and trying to go back to sleep. It was difficult to see anything but the short term for Scab: he wanted something and he wasn’t getting it. Blas wanted him healthy and whole, which was such a foreign concept to him he barely understood it. He’d lived his whole life just to die in battle, and now he had someone who wanted him to be well, and take care of himself. It was a very strange turn of events.

Grumbling Scab held onto Blas, closing his eyes. At least he was still getting attention, even if it was for the wrong reasons, like being horribly injured. Blas was so soft, and it was apparently contagious as Scab was just laying around instead of taking what he wanted like he always had.

Jeet could be heard in the storage rooms, moving things around, and not witnessing Scab being a horrible excuse for a War Boy. Scab relaxed into the mattress, he’d sleep for now. Maybe he’d have better luck with Jeet later.

He did not have better luck with Jeet later.


	7. Life Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lighthouse is bustling again.

Supplies were always on Jeet’s mind. Supplies and resources and planning and thinking at least eighteen moves ahead. Right now he had a stronghold with no people. He had a mechanic who could only work on the underside of cars. And he had a powder cooker with no powder to cook.

He wasn’t about to get more people when all he had to offer was a dwindling supply of food and an unprotected Lighthouse. And he had no control over Scab’s legs without building him an elaborate pulley system, though he was pretty sure Blas was actually working on something like that. So that left the powder cooker.

Blas Cap, now fully healed, had been bored lately. He had nothing to do, no explosives to make, no gunpowder for bullets. Basically he was sitting on the ground handing Scab tools as the War Boy worked on their cars. Scab had the idea that if he moved the pedals up to the steering wheel he’d be able to drive it, and now that they had a second functional car from the War Boys who had tried to take the lighthouse, Jeet had allowed him to take the piece of junk half-car they’d been using apart.

Currently Scab and Blas were tangled together on the mattress, sleeping soundly during the mid-day heat while Jeet sat nearby and fretted. He reached up and pressed the blades in his forehead for a few seconds before sighing and laying back down, stretching out within arms reach of them, but not touching, it was far too hot for how close the two of them were. He rolled onto his side, watching as they slept.

For the first time he noticed the size disparity between Blas and Scab, mostly because Scab was normally all twisted up or sprawled in every direction. He’d actually fallen asleep quickly during this little mid-day nap, and was laying in a straight line. Blas was nestled against his chest, his feet on either side of one of Scab’s legs, not even reaching to his ankles even though he was far down on Scab’s torso.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Jeet tilted his head, trying to imagine what Scab would look like if he could stand up. Scooching down so his feet matched where Scab’s were he measured his own height against the War Boy, and found himself lacking. Jeet wasn’t that short, but Scab would have towered over him easily. He was still broad-shouldered and heavily muscled all throughout his arms, back and chest, but below his waist he practically disintegrated. If the rest of him had been as thick as his shoulders, he would have been imposing indeed.

No wonder he’d been Scrotus’ champion.

Almost on cue Scab woke up, softly smiling at the Bullet Boy laying on him, before realizing that Jeet was watching and quickly turning away to stare intently at the wall, suddenly embarrassed. How the mighty had fallen.

Jeet rolled over, turning his back on them before Scab decided to dislodge Blas in favor of looking tough in front of his Imperator. He had some desperate need to impress Jeet constantly, to pretend he was still a fully functional War Boy. And much to Jeet’s displeasure probably compared the Warlord to Scrotus. He’d tired of repeatedly telling him he wasn’t an Imperator, Scab was determined to continue on as if he was a War Boy and Jeet was slowly learning ways to work around it.

Jeet was half dozing, mentally trying to figure out how he could get Blas some ingredients without leaving the stronghold undefended, when he was woken by a sudden reminder of just how heavy Scab was as he slithered on top of him, “Imperator! There’s people outside.”

Groaning he sat up, stroking Scab’s head as he obediently backed off once Jeet was awake. Staggering to his feet he spotted Blas leaned in one of the lighthouse windows, watching something on the ground. The Bullet Boy handed Jeet his megaphone as he approached the window, nodding at the small group of people clustered at the base of the road leading to the stronghold.

“There’s two more behind ‘em. They’re dragging someone on a stretcher.” Blas didn’t take his eyes off the newcomers, watching their movements. “And there’s a car back there, but they hid it.”

Scab snorted, “It’s not a car, it’s a rusted out kart.”

The only thing the wanderers would be able to see from their location was Blas Cap, his stained yellow skin clearly visible against the grey stone of the lighthouse. Jeet grunted, taking in the situation, they looked like any other Wastelanders from this distance and he didn’t want to scare them off by making it seem like the place was infested with War Boys (even though it was).

“I’m gonna go talk to them, you stay here,” He pointed at Scab, who even on the ground was highly recognizable as a War Boy.

Scab grumbled, but stayed where he was, whining, “I’m not gonna be a bloodbag for some busted up Wastelander you don’t know!”

Shouldering his crossbow Jeet didn’t even look at Scab as he ascended the staircase to the upper floor, “You will be if I say so.”

Resources. They were both just resources.

Following along behind him, Blas cast a worried glance at Scab before catching up with Jeet. “You really gonna offer up Scab to them?”

Jeet climbed out over some rubble he hadn’t cleared yet, approaching the railing of the outer catwalk, a show of good faith that the gathered wanderers weren’t going to shoot him, “Only if they have something to trade. But we need people. People make this whole thing,” he made a vague spinning gesture with both hands. “go round. If we don’t have people, then we’re not going to get more supplies. No supplies means no Stronghold. Scab can’t drive, and you’re going to get taken prisoner if someone spots you out in a car. And if I go on supply runs that just leaves you two to defend the lighthouse.” He narrowed his eyes at the people waiting below him.

Raising the megaphone he glared down at the Wastelanders, “State your business!”

Blas looked at him quizzically, “Thought you wanted them to join us?”

Jeet held up a hand to shush him, gauging the small band of people. “Just wait. Done this plenty of times before. You too nice to them they start getting all suspicious.”

The response was faint, the wind was not in their favor across the gap in the drawbridge. “We seek shelter! Our camp was destroyed.”

“You best be offering something more than an overrun camp. Any of you got any skills? Medicine? Scavenging? Fighting?”

They went into a huddle.

“See? Now they’re deciding how much they can tell me. Figuring out if they’re too valuable and I’m gonna take them prisoner or worthless and just gonna get shot.” Jeet smirked, watching it play out.

“We have some supplies. Scrap. Good metal.” The man who was speaking for them gestured behind him, and the little off road kart drove into view, a small two person thing dragging a sled behind it loaded with goods. He then pointed to a few people, “Weaver. Tanner.”

Jeet inclined his head. “And there we go.” That had been a little more than he expected, they must have been desperate. Lifting the megaphone to his face again, “Back up or the bridge is gonna hit you.”

That was all the welcome they got before Jeet turned to head downstairs and let them in. Blas still didn’t understand what had just transpired, confused as to why Jeet hadn’t just let them in at the start. “What’s a weaver?”

Jeet tossed the megaphone back at his chair, actually managing a smile at Blas, “You’ll like that. Works with fabric.” He gestured at the alcove where the Bullet Boy’s fort had been. “Blankets.”

Blas’ eyes went wide and he grinned excitedly.

Rolling along behind them on his board, Scab was less than pleased. “You’re gonna let them in? You should make them prove their worth. Go chrome or go home.”

“I don’t want them to be chrome.” Whatever the hell that meant, Jeet didn’t really want to know. “Think about it, there’s eight of them and three of us. Now. You stay here and don’t scare them off. Don’t yell at them. Don’t attack them. In fact just don’t exist for a while.”

The War Boy had a few choice expletives for his Imperator who ignored him as he and Blas cranked the drawbridge down to let the newcomers in, pulling it back up as soon as they had crossed and sealing their fate.

—

It had gone slightly better than Jeet had expected. Scab had only attacked one of them, though he’d threatened much more and been generally grouchy and annoying since the lighthouse had gained new people. Fortunately for him the person on the stretcher had turned out to not be injured, but heavily pregnant, so at least Scab didn’t have to do bloodbag duty for strangers.

They’d been understandably nervous about both a War Boy and a Bullet Boy having free reign of the Stronghold under Jeet, though Blas was so agreeable that it was hard to not like him. Scab on the other hand had gone into overdrive, snarling at anyone who got near him in a show of dominance until Jeet had banished him to the upper levels of the Lighthouse where he sulked and shouted at everyone from the railing.

Adding to the new groups’ unease was the fact that Jeet hadn’t really offered an explanation for why the two of them were there other than a vague mention of them being 'resources’ for the Lighthouse. But they didn’t seem to do much. The War Boy yelled and tried to fight everyone, and the Bullet Boy just followed Jeet around and brought Scab food. It was a very strange setup. Even so, the Lighthouse was incredibly safe, barring any sabotage from within, and Jeet had food and extensive knowledge of the area. It wasn’t a bad place to settle down for a group of homeless wanderers.

Scab seethed from the second floor, watching as one of the newcomers used the War Boy’s tools on the rusted piece of junk they had the nerve to try and call a vehicle. The one he’d attacked had touched Scab’s car, and by rights Scab should have been allowed to kill him for the transgression. But instead Blas and Jeet had pulled him away and then dumped him up here where Jeet had ranted at him for a while before leaving with a final warning that if he didn’t stop acting like an idiotic War Boy he was going to chain him to the wall.

Blas came and plopped down next to him, petting Scab’s bunching shoulders as he snarled like a feral dog. "Jeet said you can come back downstairs tomorrow.“

"They’re touching my things!”

“Just your tools. They’re not gonna hurt 'em.” Blas didn’t understand at all what the problem was here. Three cars seemed better than two, he’d thought Scab would be happy with that.

“But they’re mine!”

“They’re Jeet’s. You’re just the only one who’s a mechanic.” Blas sighed and leaned against Scab who looked like he was ready to launch himself off the railing into the group below. “It’s gonna be good to have more people. Sounds more alive already and they’re cleaning up all the stuff Gutgash did.”

Jeet had put them to work immediately, cleaning rubble and getting the Lighthouse into better shape to ward off any attackers. The barely used third floor had been organized into small spaces for each of the newcomers, cords strung across to designate rooms and would have curtains on them for privacy eventually. There was still only one mattress and that had been moved into Blas’ storage room behind his armory table. Jeet had started sleeping in his chair again, alert for any sign of treachery from this new group of people.

Scab snorted, unconvinced and Blas sighed. “You don’t gotta fight everyone. You’re already his Champion, what more do you want?”

He didn’t reply, because he didn’t really know. All Scab wanted was to prove his worth to his Imperator and it seemed to be a constant battle for his approval. More so now that there were eight other people vying for Jeet’s attention.

Blas softly stroked Scab’s shoulder before crawling into his room and curling up for a midday nap. Scab frowned, following him in. He didn’t like how much Blas slept, it was a constant reminder that he was half-life. Sickly. Dying. All the torture he’d undergone in his life certainly hadn’t helped, but he looked better now than he had since Scab had known him. Maybe they were winning against whatever disease it was that made some people half life. Scab curled around Blas, gladly being his personal heater.

Soon Scab would have to do bloodbag duties for Blas, keep him topped off and healthy. But he almost enjoyed it, keeping his Bullet Boy alive. And the fact that Blas just tangled himself up with Scab while the bloodline was hooked up didn’t hurt either. So soft, but Scab was weakened from blood loss and couldn’t get away. At least that’s what he told himself.

—

The following days had gotten much better. Jeet had sent off a small contingent to find gunpowder making supplies, and given Scab a project to keep him busy and out of everyone’s hair. The War Boy was riveting together pieces of metal into a spider-like contraption that would attach to the outside of the lighthouse and collect water. Working on something had put him in a far better mood, he hadn’t even snapped at the people walking by him.

“How’s this supposed to work?” Blas was holding one arm of the thing in place so that Scab could twist other metal bits around it. Right now it looked like a mess.

Scab pulled himself into a sitting position leaning against the wall and taking it from Blas so he could flip the whole thing over. “When they get a tarp it gets impaled on these spikes and stretched over the top. Then water collects on the underside of the tarp and the droplets fall into the funnel that’s going to be attached to a barrel.” He didn’t understand the science of why that happened, or even what conditions they needed for dew collection, he just knew that it worked. And that was good enough for him.

Blas though, had never seen a water collector before. He’d been sheltered inside the mine, always having everything brought to him, and this seemed like magic to him. “And this is going to be enough for eleven people?”

“Twelve soon. If it’s not enough I’ll make a few more.”

Blas looked confused, “Twelve?”

“She’ll have her pup and then we’ll need to feed that too.”

“Who.. what pup?”

Scab nodded at the top floor where the pregnant woman was currently situated, cleaning up boxes of rusty metal and sorting through scrap. “The breeder up there.”

“She’s got a pup?” Blas was comically perplexed and Scab almost laughed at him.

“It’s in her stomach.”

Blas stared at Scab as if he’d suddenly turned into a Buzzard and Scab realized that he probably made it sound like she’d eaten it, “Breeders have special parts in them that make pups.”

“How does it come out?”

Scab shrugged, “Sometimes you gotta cut 'em out.”

Horrified, Blas glanced between Scab and what he could see of her on the third floor, “But won’t she die if you do that?”

“She might.” But now Scab was frowning too, as the closest thing to an Organic they had he’d probably be the one who’d have to do that. He didn’t want to whelp any pups. They were loud and messy and fragile and he had no idea how to do that anyway. There weren’t pregnant women in Gastown, and if there had been they would have stood a better chance surviving childbirth by asking Stank Gum to help than the Organic there.

Scab shook his head, he didn’t want to think about this right now. He readjusted himself, finding that he was slowly sliding down the wall and got back to work on the water collector; leaving Blas to stare at the woman upstairs in fascination.

—

The water collector worked better than they’d thought. Jeet had found a tarp from one of his many secret stashes throughout the Balefire, disappearing for a day and leaving Scab in charge, much to everyone else’s dismay. Shockingly, Scab wasn’t a monster when he had authority, delegating everyone tasks before going off to work on his car. He probably would have killed them if they disobeyed him, but no one had, and Jeet had returned to a suspiciously peaceful Lighthouse.

Blas Cap had been making mines and bullets and flares, happily stationed at his armory table and not sleeping all day like normal. Blas and Scab had dragged Jeet into their private room several times to pin him down and be aggressively affectionate while he complained and griped and made a show of pretending to try to escape. Afterwards no one in the stronghold had mentioned a thing about it.

The twelfth member of the Stronghold entered the world screaming its head off while Scab grumbled that he didn’t know what the fuss was about.

All in all things were going fairly well for them. They had food. They had water. They had supplies. It couldn’t last of course. Gutgash was bound to strike back, the remnants of Stank Gum’s vipers were still prowling the wastes looking for a central location from which to launch attacks. And life in the Wasteland was always going to be rough, people survived, they never thrived. 

But for now. For now things were alright.


End file.
